


so quite new a thing

by provocation



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Background Relationships, Fix-It, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, with the exception of hannah and beth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 15:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6474931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provocation/pseuds/provocation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s something settled in the pit of Mike’s stomach, something he hadn’t even felt while standing in that living room, staring down that creepy fucking thing that couldn’t have possibly been Hannah. He thinks the last time he felt this particular brand of awful was when he’d pointed that pistol at Emily. It feels like he’s swallowed a stone, or a piece of hail the size of his fist, the kind he’d only seen once in his life.<br/>“Mike,” the detective who’s interrogating him prompts gently, and Mike hears it as if through water. <i>Guilt</i>, his mind supplies. <i>The stone in your stomach you can’t swallow is guilt</i>. But it’s something more than that too; it’s love, searing and freezing and indigestible.<br/>“Mike, the question was about Josh."</p><p>((post-canon fix-it fic set during and right after the police interviews))</p>
            </blockquote>





	so quite new a thing

There’s something settled in the pit of Mike’s stomach, something he hadn’t even felt while standing in that living room, staring down that creepy fucking thing that couldn’t have _possibly_ been Hannah. He thinks the last time he felt this particular brand of awful was when he’d pointed that pistol at Emily. It feels like he’s swallowed a stone, or a piece of hail the size of his fist, the kind he’d only seen once in his life.

“Mike,” the detective who’s interrogating him prompts gently, and Mike hears it as if through water. _Guilt_ , his mind supplies. _The stone in your stomach you can’t swallow is guilt._ But it’s something more than that too; it’s love, searing and freezing and indigestible.

“Mike, the question was about Josh,” the other detective says, voice less gentle but still patient. “The statements we’ve received from your friends indicated that they were all scared of him. Chris began crying at the very mention of his name.”

Mike suspects that has less to do with a residual fear of Josh and more with the fact that Chris was head-over-heels for Josh before all this began. He wonders how Chris is dealing with all this— Chris who had defended Josh on the helicopter ride back, who had gotten angry with Sam when she’d said something to the rescuers about Josh’s prank at all. But even though Josh wasn’t the one who hurt Jess, he’d been the catalyst for the night’s events. Mike wonders if they would have been able to rescue Jess sooner if Josh hadn’t been trying to play God for them all.

He sucks in a breath, and then replies, “He was out of his fucking mind. He wanted to hurt us. Yeah, he... and...”

But… he _hadn’t_ hurt Jess. He didn’t hurt anyone, not really, not in the way that mattered. He’d knocked Chris out, sure, and the saw thing was sure as hell gonna require months of therapy for Chris and Ashley to recover from, but he’d been just as scared as they were down in that shed, let alone down in the mines.

Mike remembers Josh blurting out that he thought he would have remembered killing Jess, and at the time it had seemed like the words of a psychopath, especially paired with the disgusting comment about her body. Looking back, it’s clear that Josh had been more fucked up than any of them could have suspected.

“I thought he was the one who attacked Jess.” _Thought_ being the keyword. The detectives exchange a meaningful glance and then one sighs, looking up at the ceiling. They’ve nearly exhausted out this line of extraction. Maybe soon they’ll start pushing the good cop, bad cop routine even more.

The sighing detective moves to adjust the camera, pulling the focus back to Mike’s eyes. The other one leans forward, suddenly looking curious. “But Sam changed your mind about it.”

“No,” Mike corrects them stubbornly. “ _I_ changed my mind about it. When that old guy showed up, he told us all about the… about that thing, the Wendigo, and I realized that _that_ was what had taken Jess, not Josh. It imitates human movement, and it was up at the cabin while Josh was down at the lodge re-enacting Saw or whatever. It makes way more sense.”

His interviewers don’t believe him; that much is obvious. But who would? Mike still doesn’t want to believe himself.

To their credit, neither of the detectives question him on the existence of a walking, talking, killing native nightmare. “And this was after you came back down the mountain from the Sanatorium.”

“Yeah.”

“Where you found the stranger’s dog.”

Mike nods, rueful about leaving the wolf behind. “Yeah, I… yes.”

The bored detective scribbles something down onto their clipboard, and the other one narrows their eyes at Mike. “This stranger was the one who encouraged you to go get Josh, didn’t he?”

“No,” Mike says again. “He thought Josh was already dead. He told us it was a suicide mission to go try to rescue him, but… Chris was stubborn.” He blinks, and immediately regrets blinking afterwards, hoping they won’t think it’s a tell.

“And you weren’t?”

He hadn’t been, no. Chris had been the only one dead-set on trying to save Josh when they were in the lodge. Ashley had been stubbornly opposed, eager to save him. Mike didn’t blame her. “I don’t know if I understand what you’re getting at.”

The detectives both lean closer, and the camera seems interested too. “You weren’t stubborn about saving Josh, but later on, in the lake, you endangered yourself to save his life. Would you not call that stubbornness?”

Mike doesn’t want to think about the lake. He doesn’t want to think about the ripples he’d seen ahead of them in the water, how he’d turned around and grabbed Josh’s shoulders to hold him carefully. Neither of them had moved, and something had brushed past his leg that sure as _hell_ wasn’t a fish. Josh had stayed still under his hands, so still it nearly would have been frightening if Mike hadn’t been able to see the empty look in his eyes. Josh hadn’t had a solid grasp on anything close to reality, but at least he hadn’t moved.

The creature—Hannah, but Mike still doesn’t have the heart or guts or will to call her by her name—had crawled up the other shore of the lake, back to the room with the stranger’s body. It hadn’t spared them out of any remaining mercy, but just because it hadn’t bothered turning around to look for them. Mike hadn’t waited for Josh to stop hallucinating or dissociating or whatever the fuck he’d been doing. He’d just grabbed him and dragged him through the lake and then through the dark mines and back to the lodge.

“Josh helped us, and then… Fuck, man.” He takes a heavy breath in. “He wasn’t himself, he was really fucking out of it. I had to save him. It wasn’t stubbornness, it was… I don’t know. There was no point in letting him die.”

The detective’s eyebrows draw close together, like they don’t believe Mike. It stings a little to think that _now_ is when they start questioning his story. Sure, the Wendigo and stranger and all the other shit that happened up on the mountain is totally believable, but heaven forbid Mike want to save the guy whose life he practically ruined in the first place by getting both his sisters killed. “That’s very… _noble_ of you.”

Whether it’s Mike being paranoid or not, their words sound nearly derisive. These detectives have probably never faced any criminals in their entire careers as scary as the shit Mike has seen over the past 24 hours, nor will they. After Mike had been airlifted with the others, he’d only received basic medical attention before being sat down in this room and having a camera shoved in his face. There’s still blood and dirt caked onto his cheeks, and his whole body aches. He realizes in an instant that he wants nothing less than to be sitting in front of these detectives, trying to justify his actions on the mountain. They don’t know what he’s been through— what any of them have been through. “What would you have done? Left him for dead?”

“He hurt people you cared about,” the detective who had stayed idle up until now says, suddenly sitting up. “Toyed with them. Nobody would have blamed you had you been unable to save him.”

Mike glares at them. “I would have blamed myself. I’m done answering your questions.” He gets to his feet, and some tension in the dim room disperses. Both detectives look up at him warily, and Mike doesn’t have the energy to tell them off like he wishes he could. “I want to see the others.”

“We still need to talk to your friend Sam,” the detective continues, standing as well. “And I’d like to call Joshua back in here for further questioning.”

“You can talk to Sam,” Mike spits out, “but leave Josh alone. You know his family already lost two of their children, right? Please, just—just let us go home.”

The detectives look at each other with something Mike can’t decipher. He has to rest a hand on the table, knees watery just from staying on his feet for a few seconds. Maybe that’s the display of weakness they needed, or maybe their sympathetic sides just finally kicked in. Or maybe the mention of the Washingtons and their wealth scared some sense back into them. In any case, they nod, and hand Mike a card with the local precinct’s number. “We’ll be in touch. Where are you staying?”

“One of the motels in Banff,” he mutters, pocketing the card. The Washingtons had offered to put them up in the Rimrock, but Josh had declined, much to Emily’s frustration and Mike’s relief. He wants to stay as far away from any and all mountains as possible, even if that means sacrificing five-star resort service. “Anything else?”

The detectives really look like they want to say yes. “Not right now. Thank you for your time, Mike.”

He breathes a little easier, and the guilt in his stomach is alleviated ever so slightly. “Yeah, uh. Sure.” He nods, and leaves the room. One of the detectives cuts the recording when he leaves, and Mike wonders how bad he probably looked on camera. It’s a brief, grounding moment of vanity— a recovery device he’s certain Emily will employ.

Josh and Sam are seated outside the room, their hands tightly clasped together. The contact seems to be for Sam’s sake as much as Josh’s, as the blonde looks more worn out than Mike has ever seen her. Josh’s other hand is curled around the remnants of a coffee cup, Styrofoam mashed to bits. His first interview hadn’t gone so well, and Mike knows immediately that he made the right choice by not letting them talk to Josh a second time.

Sam looks up and her eyes are still just as soft as ever—or, not soft, but kind, forgiving, loving. She’s cried the least out of any of them, and Mike wishes he could show the heroism she seems to own without even trying. He jerks his head before the door before she can say anything about holding Josh’s hand. “They wanna see you in there, but I don’t think it’ll be for long. They just have a few questions.”

“O.K.,” Sam says, and then nods, and then looks down dumbly at her hand. She clenches her fist tightly around Josh’s fingers. “Are you going to be fine without me for a little bit?”

“Fine,” Josh repeats, doing a pretty good job of echoing Sam’s voice. It fails to amuse or comfort her.

 _The Wendigo can perfectly mimic its prey_ , Mike’s mind supplies needlessly. He shivers at the unwelcome thought.

“Yeah, I, uh,” Sam begins, and then looks up at Mike. The dried blood spattered across her neck and throat is just as red as her lipstick that she’s miraculously managed to reapply at some point in all this chaos. Her lower lip is trembling, and Mike realizes in horror that she’s about to burst into tears.

Interrupting Sam, Mike reaches forward and places his hand over hers. “Hey, hey hey hey, you don’t have to go in there if you don’t want to. I can go back in and talk to them.” He keeps his voice level, despite the fact that he’d rather eat Josh’s coffee cup whole than go back in there and try to explain Sam’s side of things.

His words soothe Sam, and her eyes are still wet but he can see the muscles in her jaw setting. When she speaks, her voice is solid and determined. “No. I want to talk to them. I need to tell them what to do.” She rises without warning, surprising both boys holding her hand. “Mike, can you sit out here with Josh?”

“Yeah, sure,” Mike says. _Anything for you, Sam_ , he doesn’t say. _I wish I was as strong as you_ , he doesn’t say. _I wish I’d dated you instead of Emily_ , he doesn’t say. She pulls her hand away and Josh grabs Mike’s hand before he has a choice in the matter, winding their fingers together and firmly anchoring himself down. Mike watches their skin press together so hard it hurts, and all he can think is that they’re both in dire need of some Purell or something. “Do you know where Chris went?”

The question is directed to Sam: _Do you know where this unhinged psycho’s babysitter-slash-boyfriend is?_ But Josh is the one who answers. “He’s probably off finally consummating things with Ashley. It’s about damn time he took her to the Bone Zone.”

Josh sounds like… a parody of his old self. Like a stand-up comic trying to do his best Josh Washington joke and failing horribly. Mike looks at Sam, and Sam looks apologetic but there’s also relief in her expression. She closes the door to the interrogation room behind her, and Mike is left with no alternative route but to slide into her seat, hand still trapped in Josh’s viselike grip. Josh watches Mike now, gaze intensely focused on him. The last time they were holding hands this tightly, they were hip-deep in water with the pleasant company of Josh’s undead cannibal sister.

Mike grinds his teeth, forcing his thoughts back to the present. If Josh is trying to make things normal again in his own weird way, then Mike will absolutely follow suit. “You think so? The way things were going back there, I kind of thought he wanted to take _you_ to the ‘Zone, dude.”

Maybe he’s hoping for a chuckle, or another line of banter in reply. Instead Josh looks pensive, which is the last thing Mike wants right now. He couldn’t handle Sam crying—and he _likes_ her. He has no idea what he’ll do if Josh breaks down. Josh is searching Mike’s eyes and after a long beat he apparently doesn’t find what he’s looking for, so he pulls back the corner of his mouth in a frown. “No… Chris is hella straight, bro.”

“Uh,” Mike laughs uneasily. “Chris is _hella_ not. I’m pretty sure you should know that about your bro, _bro_.”

Josh laughs too. His hands tighten on Mike, and Mike has to pull away—not all the way, just enough to let Josh’s grip go slack so he can keep the feeling circulating to his fingertips. Josh’s laugh is harsh, humourless, and obviously fake. “I don’t—I’m sorry, I don’t get it. I don’t understand the joke.”

“I mean, I think he might be bi or something, but he’s definitely not straight, he’s been out for, like, forever… Josh?” Mike’s tone drops to a more serious level when he notices that Josh’s grip has gone completely limp. “Hey. Washington.”

Josh pulls his hand away, and for a stupid, instinctive moment, Mike tries to grab it back. He _quickly_ restrains himself, face heating at how stupid that had been. Geez, Munroe, just go ahead and out two birds with one stone, right? Josh curls in around himself, hands folding under the hem of the baggy sweater he’s wearing— which must be Chris’ fucking sweater from how he’s both drowning in and clinging to it. For a sore moment, Mike wants to grab Josh’s hand back anyway. Fuck the consequences, fuck the _no homo_ s and fuck this bullshit. He wants to be Josh’s lifeline the same way that Chris’ fucking clothing is.

Josh isn’t looking at Mike, so Mike quietly asks again, “Earth to Josh?”

The second he speaks he wishes he hadn’t, because Josh’s head _snaps_ to face him, neck turning in an instant, and Mike is reminded, again, of the Wendigo. “You’re _fucking with me_ ,” Josh accuses, eyes wild and panicky. “You’re trying to—the same thing you did with Hannah, you’re trying to get me to believe you, to embarrass myself, I’m not gonna—Chris is _straight_ , he’s _straight_ , and no amount of pranking is ever going to change the way he’s wired, or the way that _you’re_ wired, Mike, so fuck you, dude, _fuck you_!”

Josh slams the cup he’s torn to bits down onto the chair beside him and jumps to his feet. Mike is so stunned he can’t even react at first, just watching Josh storming off in fury. When he comes to his senses he gets up as well, following Josh. “Fuck,” he curses, and grabs Josh’s arm. “We’re in a fucking _police station_ , Washington, do _not_ have an episode right now!”

Maybe Mike’s reply doesn’t register, or maybe Josh just doesn’t care, but Mike isn’t about to let either of them get arrested. When Josh tries to pull away, Mike drags him back, grip on his arm firm. He spins Josh around to face him, and glares down at him. “Listen to me, asshole. Do you think for a second I’d…”

His words die on his lips. Josh’s eyes are nearly dull with forced emotional vacancy, but not entirely dull because there are tears welling up, threatening to spill. Mike’s guilt floods back again, this time tasting and feeling like gravel in his throat. He made Josh cry.

There’s a silence between them, observed only by the security cameras on the ceiling. Josh sniffs, blinks. He’s trying hard to look like he’s bored, but it’s just not working. Mike reaches up to push away a tear with his dirty, blood-stained thumb, but another takes its place immediately, and then another.

“Listen to me,” he repeats himself, softer this time. There’s no bite to it whatsoever. It’s the same placid tone he’d use with Emily, or Jess. _Or Hannah_ , he remembers with sudden vitriol.  “Do you think for a _second_ I’d try to out-prank the prank master?”

Josh hiccups, and his arm comes up to grab Mike’s wrist instead of the sweater. He doesn’t pull Mike’s hand away from his face, just holds onto his pulse. He blinks again, and then looks at Mike instead of looking through him. “Shut up,” he mutters.

Relieved, Mike continues, “I wasn’t pulling your leg, I promise. I just thought you knew about Chris, man; he came out to me, like, months ago.”

Josh’s other hand comes up to rest against Mike’s chest, and Mike takes it as a sign to pull back. When he tries, Josh holds him in place. They stare at each other, and slowly Josh’s tears dry up, leaving his face blotchy and eyes bright. “I… nah, he never mentioned.” He clears his throat, and Mike swallows, moves his hand to the side of Josh’s face to cup his cheek instead of wiping it clean. “Are there any other friends of ours who you’d like to out while you’ve got the chance?”

Mike snorts to hide the way his heart beats twice as fast. He’s worried Josh can see the truth written all over his face, so he invents, “I’ve always thought Matt was a little suspicious.”

The sound of Josh’s _real_ laugh makes Mike glance down at the floor to check he’s not floating an inch off the ground in delight. Josh’s real, genuine laugh is pure ecstasy. Mike would say _anything_ stupid to get him to keep laughing like that. “It’s those eyelashes, I think.”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Mike teases back. “Emily’s going to be pissed when she finds out.”

“So pissed,” and now Josh’s fingers are splaying out over Mike’s chest, resting right against where his heart is hiding behind his ribcage, and Mike is an open book for Josh to read, and he wants nothing more than to be _read_. Josh licks his lips, tongue darting out to wet them, and Mike swallows again. “And what about y—”

With spectacularly bad timing, the door to the interrogation room opens. It’s not even a loud noise, and compared to the Wendigo shriek soundtrack that’s been playing in Mike’s subconscious it’s nearly fucking ASMR, but it jolts both Mike and Josh back into the real world. The real, very public world: where Josh and Mike are standing just barely a foot apart from each other, and Sam is walking out of the interrogation room.

Mike isn’t sure what to do, if he should push Josh away from him or pull him closer, but Josh takes the reins anyway. He steps forward and buries his face in Mike’s shoulder, and makes a small, muffled noise. Mike can feel Josh’s mouth against the cloth, and he twists his head around to look at Sam nervously, guilt rushing back for a different reason.

Sam rushes over, hand on Josh’s back instantly. “What happened?” She gives Mike a wary look. “What’d you _do_?”

“He didn’t do anything,” Josh mumbles out, and then pulls his face away to be heard. “I… freaked out. He comforted me.”

The suspicion lingers on Sam’s face for a moment, and then it dissipates altogether. “Oh, Josh,” she says, and sinks forward to circle around the two of them. Her face is pressed against the back of Josh’s neck, and her hands rest gently on Mike’s back. “How about we get out of here?”

“I’m kinda fine right here,” Josh bleats out, and maybe he hears the pathetically wavering note in his own voice so he clears his throat before continuing, “sandwiched between you beautiful people.”

“Gross, perv,” Sam snorts, and she pulls away. Mike does too, hands peeling away slowly. There’s a colour sitting high in Josh’s cheeks, and Mike feels momentarily thrilled at the thought that he put that flustered look there— or at least, half of it.

“I’m just saying,” Josh grins, and the words are to Sam but his eyes are trained on Mike. He pulls his upper lip in between his teeth, sucking and then popping it back out in a motion that has to be intentional. Mike glances down at Josh’s mouth, and then kind of hates himself for falling for such an easy trick.

The grin on Josh’s lips curls into a smirk, and Mike finds himself more relieved than aroused. It’s good to see Josh acting the way he had a year ago, over-confidence slathered over every word to cover up a world of insecurities. If a little flirting is what it takes to get him back to how he used to be, Mike’s happy to oblige. “Save it for the hotel room, Washington.”

Sam barks out a surprised laugh, like she hadn’t expected Mike to banter back. Which… okay, she probably hadn’t. “Damn. I’m telling Jess.”

Josh looks surprised too, and Mike shoves his hands deep into his pockets, trying to swallow down the dry feeling in his throat and force a neutral colour onto his face. He can _feel_ heat rising to his cheeks and, well. It looks like he won’t need to wait for Chris to return the favour and out him to Josh. From the curious look in Josh’s eyes, Mike would hazard a guess that he’s starting to get an inkling of Mike’s real sexuality; the warmest secret that he’s kept pent up inside, layers beneath all the other secrets. Or maybe he’s just curious about Mike’s relationship with Jess.

To clear that up, Mike looks over at Sam and says bluntly, “I’m pretty sure she won’t care, if what happened at the cabin was any indication.”

Maybe he’s confused Sam for Ashley or Jess or Emily, because what Mike _expects_ is a shriek of nosy delight and the demand for gossip, accompanied by some invasive question about what happened or maybe an insistence that he tell her all the hot deets later. Sam, however, doesn’t look thrilled by the prospects of drama. Her face drops, and her teasing smile dies on her lips. “What do you mean?”

“I, uh,” Mike flounders, and looks between her and Josh. “Things weren’t really working out between us.”

It seems too casual a way of explaining what had happened, explaining how they’d tried to kiss and Jess had told him about her insecurities and then told him how wet she was and yet still, nothing had worked. How she’d gone outside and flaunted in Hannah’s undead face what they were about to do, but Mike had been sitting inside on the couch trying to steel himself for it, nerves kicking in at the worst possible time. He hadn’t even been sure that she wanted to sleep with him because it was _him_ or if she wanted him because they were dating and she thought it was the right thing to do. Retrospectively, he isn’t sure which applied to him either.

He’s also pretty sure he will never be able to picture the soft lines of Jessica’s jaw and neck and throat again; not without recalling how her head had snapped back when she was pulled through the window. Just the thought of Jess stripping down to a tank top and panties forces him to remember her similar state of undress in the mine shaft, and how she’d looked on that rusted iron grate, all drenched in blood and wide-eyed and in complete shock.

Mike realizes his expression has formed itself into one of near-disgust, bile forming at the back of his throat. Sam and Josh are both looking at him like he’s the crazy one, which, wow. That hurts a lot, especially coming from Verified Psycho™ Josh Washington. Mike pulls his hands from his pockets and defensively crosses his arms over his chest. “What?”

Josh opens his mouth, but before he can say anything Sam speaks. Her voice is soft and confused, and somehow it hits Mike sharper than yelling would. “She’s traumatized, Mike.” Sam nervously shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “She’s… she’s in shock.”

“I know,” Mike replies, sounding a little stubborn about it and a little aggrieved. “I know that.”

Sam doesn’t seem to hear him, pressing on. “We all had it pretty bad, but that thing _took_ her, Mike. She barely remembers what happened; I was talking to her outside and she was having trouble piecing together where she was. She asked me if they were going to arrest us all, and she asked me where you were twice.”

 _The stone in your stomach you can’t swallow is guilt._ But it’s not just guilt— it’s love, too, the kind of love that keeps lemmings heading for the shore and Juliet’s dagger heading for her chest. “Jesus, Sam, don’t you think I _know_ —”

“You can’t abandon her,” Josh interrupts, and _his_ voice is sharp. Mike and Sam both turn to look at him, stunned. Josh’s eyes are heavy with some deeper meaning, and Mike wishes more than anything that they could talk about it later, about _them_ and not about Mike’s girlfriend. Almost as soon as he’s had the thought he has another, more certain one: there won’t be a later. This isn’t Josh delivering firm advice, this is Josh delivering a farewell to whatever potential had ignited between them. This is Josh stamping out that spark before it could even properly catch, and Mike doesn’t know what to do, drowning in the sorrow and finality in Josh’s eyes. “Jess needs you. You have to _make_ things work out between you two.”

Mike’s throat closes up, and he can’t tear his eyes away from Josh. He can’t be imagining this—can’t be making up the look in Josh’s eyes telling him what he should do even though it’s not what either of them want.

They stare at each other for a long time and when it becomes clear Mike isn’t going to reply, Sam chimes in, “I… agree, Mike. Even if you guys were going through something, or if it was complicated or whatever, I think you should try to work things out. She really does need you.”

“I need her, too,” Mike says, and the open doors behind Josh’s eyes shut. The emotional vacancy from earlier drips back into his expression, and Mike hates himself a little for how well he can recognize it. He jerks his gaze away, looking to Sam. “I didn’t mean that. I love Jess, and I know she needs me right now, it’s just… difficult to deal with all this.”

The righteous look on Sam’s face softens, and maybe she’s facing some guilt as well, because she reaches out to pat the side of his arm. “I know it’s difficult. It’s _awful_.” Slowly, Mike unfolds his arms and lets them hang loosely at his sides, and Sam takes his hand. Josh stands a distance away from both of them, and Sam must sense the remoteness because she reaches out to offer Josh her other hand.

Josh takes it, that haunted and detached look from earlier returning to his eyes. His unmedicated random bout of honesty has apparently ended, and he’s relapsed back into his usual damaged self. Mike hates himself for knowing that he won’t bring up his sexuality around Josh after this, that it’ll remain a locked topic of conversation, a big What If. He wonders when he’ll ever bring it up again.

Sam squeezes both of their hands at once, and Mike can’t tell if she can’t tell that anything’s wrong or knows something’s wrong but doesn’t want to address it. Either way, she stays silent, and starts to lead them down the hallway, towards the double doors that lead out to the parking lot. Mike glances behind them at the dormant police station. The detectives are nowhere to be seen, and the only sign that they’d been there at all is a crumpled up coffee cup and the sadness slowly developing in Mike’s heart.

He turns to look ahead, and Josh has broken off from Sam, heading towards the exit in a hurry. Mike doesn’t blame him for wanting to get out of here, but he can’t help but wonder if it’s what he’s done that’s causing Josh to leave separate from them; if his actions have directly affected Josh’s actions.

Sam crushes their palms together again and then drops Mike’s hand, and Mike lets it slide back into his pocket, toying with the corner of the business card the detectives had given him. Josh pushes through both doors, and the warm sunlight filtering in blocks Mike’s vision for a moment. His eyes adjust slowly to the sight in the parking lot.

The lot is nearly empty, a few squad cars parked on the opposite side and a car and a truck parked right by the doors. Chris and Ashley are leaning against the truck, and Chris instantly looks happy to see Josh, while Ashley looks apprehensive, to say the least. Chris pushes off of the rusty door to launch himself forward towards his friend, asking nervously how it went. Josh steps in for a hug instead of answering, and Chris is dazed for just a moment before circling his arms around Josh. Ashley hugs herself tightly and looks at them the same way Mike does. Chris’ fingers catch in the back of the soft sweater Josh is wearing, and suddenly Mike can’t bear to look at them anymore.

Sam steps out into the warm afternoon, looking much healthier already. Within a few months, Mike knows she’ll be healed enough to want to discuss what happened on the mountain with real people, people who matter; people who might be able to make some sense of the psychological or supernatural terrors. She makes her way around the truck to the sedan, politely knocking on the roof of the car. The shotgun passenger, Emily, looks up from her phone, and her small frown turns into a rare, genuine smile at whatever Sam says to her. Mike can’t help but wish she’d smiled more like that because of him when they’d dated, but he’s not a miracle worker. Nobody can smile like Sam.

The smile is short-lived, and Emily frowns at the next thing Sam said, incredibly offended. She leans back in her seat and turns to Matt, who Mike is glad to catch mid-laugh. Matt shakes his head to whatever Emily’s nattering on about, and keeps laughing. Mike’s sure he’ll hear all about this fight later tonight from multiple parties at the hotel.

Somehow; they all made it. The weight in Mike’s chest is alleviated at the sight. Despite all the chaos and torture, they have _all_ made it off the mountain alive.

He looks around for the last member, and sees her standing right beside him. Mike jumps a little, and Jess smiles, a thin-lipped, apologetic thing. She’s wearing a light-grey hoodie he’s never seen on her before; for a moment he assumes it must belong to one of the other girls, and then he realizes it’s one of Hannah’s old sweaters. The Washingtons must have thought to bring it for her, or maybe Josh was the one who lent it to her. Jess looks like a ghost in it.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and her voice is a fraction of what it once was, the furthest thing from cocky and confident. This seems like the version of Jess she’d talked about in the cabin: the scared little girl who acted like a total babe but was really insecure beyond belief. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Her voice quavers on the word _frighten_ , as if any mention of fear is enough to remind her of what had happened. The scrapes on her cheek and nose and chin haven’t even begun to scar yet, and clearly one of the detectives had a first aid kit or something, because there’s a white bandage covering the gash on her forehead.

The crisp colour of the bandage starkly shines out against Jessica’s dirty skin, and Mike gingerly raises a hand to cup her undamaged cheek. Jess winces at the touch, and Mike pulls his hand away quickly. “It’s okay,” he replies awkwardly. “You didn’t frighten me.”

Jess nods, unconvinced, and Mike can see that Sam’s diagnosis was spot-on. Jess needs him. He opens his arms, offering an embrace without surprising her with it. She hesitates before stepping towards him, and he’s reminded of a baby bird, tentative and lost, as she curls into his warmth. Mike loops his arms around her, and he can’t help but notice how much smaller she is in his arms than Josh, how much more fragile.

He raises his head and looks over at Josh, and to his surprise, Josh is already looking back at him from where he’s standing beside Chris. Mike feels pinned like a butterfly on a board under Josh’s gaze, and Josh’s expression is hard to read from this far away but Mike would be willing to bet good money that he’s thinking the exact same thing Mike is.

Josh stares at Mike, and Mike stares back, and Jess tucks her head in close to Mike’s chest, and they stay like that for a long time. They stay like that until Matt and Chris start up their cars and Sam pulls Josh into the backseat of the pick-up truck. Mike walks Jess over to the back of Matt and Emily’s car, and for the rest of the day, he swears he can feel Jess’ warmth on his chest and Josh’s eyes stabbing straight through him, right up until the sun sets that night.

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is my first until dawn fic (i'm so shocked it isn't climbing class but. there you have it) and I'm still working on characterization so let me know what you thought :) I am planning out a second part to this but I'm not sure when/if it'll ever be up. in any case, thanks for reading!
> 
> title is from [this poem](http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1590/i-like-my-body-when-it-is-with-your/)


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